Honey, its cold, no it’s REALLY cold. My wife knows what this means. Any change in weather and its down tools and more layers, so much so that my kids have been re-named the Michelin Kids.

Now this is not my fault it is in fact theirs. I am not the one who is susceptible to colds; I am not the one who keeps my parents housebound for a week till all cold symptoms dissipate, you don’t hear me whining that I need a cloth for my nose (a tissue being too small as to dam the flow of snot!).

Winter is no friend to my kids. When it comes I find myself creeping outside the house in the dawn’s early morn (in my undies, I must add) and turning the ignition in the car to create just about enough heat that would roast the Christmas turkey, so my family would not have to suffer any drop in temperature from house to vehicle. Yes, at times it does take a great degree of revving to achieve the correct temperature, but this is what dad’s do, isn’t it?

Lately I have noticed that I seem to be alone in my quest to keep the family warm and illness at bay, granted my kids are always the ones wrapped up the most, and yes, I do go around the shopping centre tutting at other parents who have allowed their own kids do walkabout with neither muffs nor mits. But one spectacle I have witnessed has left me sickened to the pit of my belly. It was on a fine winter’s morning I popped out to buy the local newspaper when I was met with a line of school kids out on a brisk walk in pied piper fashion with their whistling teacher, in commendable winter fashion attire – only her eyes were visible! I saluted the Miss and stepped aside to allow the train of mature toddlers to pass, and pass they did, without coats, hats, gloves, scarves – only their grey uniforms shielding them from the winter wars!

But it didn’t end there. At lunch-time whilst out and about on a few errands I passed said school where ALL the kids were out at break-time running about, to keep warm I imagined, with rosy cheeks and blue hands, again only in their grey uniforms. I pulled over to pretend to answer the mobile, when I saw it – the adult faculty dressed in more clothes than even I thought was possible (and that’s saying something!), they must have been into the lost property box as well, chatting away flapping their well covered arms about like mating penguins and ignoring poor little Johnny who was either having a fit, or was trying to tell them something.

Now I didn’t march over and de-robe the masters handing out their clothes to the smurf coloured kids like some winter Robin Hood, nor did I phone the school and berate the headmaster. I waited until the kids (now dressed in full winter combat gear) were being collected by their parents and recognising a few neighbours, I began to tell my tale to all that would hear – ironically very few paid me little attention, most making some excuse about getting the kids out of the cold! One flippant dad did say from his warm motor enclosure with the window down an inch – ‘what do you expect pal, the more kids out with colds, the less they have to teach’. Thank Jack Frost my own kids don’t attend this school!